


idée fixe

by lesbianedgeworth



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, aaarrrgghh's mom has REALLY got it going on, book!aaarrrgh but like she existed in the show universe as aaarrrgghh!!!'s mom, bular's mother is not a good person, fairly explicit references to child abuse/enslavement (what happened to aaarrrgghh)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianedgeworth/pseuds/lesbianedgeworth
Summary: nounnoun:idée fixe; plural noun:idées fixesan idea or desire that dominates the mind; an obsessionMagnhilde, mother of Bular, is drawn to interesting things.





	idée fixe

**Author's Note:**

> this is a terrible flowery character study specifically about how fucking thirsty bular's mom is. fucking figures. you know it's purple because i broke out the french.

When Magnhilde had been a younger troll she’d thought long and hard about the world and all those who dwelled in it and had come to several conclusions, none of which she was inclined to change. The most important of them was: the world was not divided between the Good and the Evil or even the Weak and the Strong, but the Interesting and everyone else.

Humans were—not _all_ boring, the few that could sling a spell around had made their mark and she’d respect that—but as a group, certainly. Tiny, squishy, easily killed things. Most trolls were the same, content to stay in their caverns and eat bats and rats and cats and roll in their own filth and sloth and she’d had no trouble killing any of them, for her husband or for the commanders that had come before.

Some were different.

Gunmar.

That clever little brat, Skarglak, clever enough Magnhilde was willing to let her treasonous agenda slide until she showed her hand or became too boring to tolerate.

Johanna.

Oh, _Johanna._

She’d thought her boring when they first met, another pathetic Krubera too certain in the safety of their remote caverns to see the horde coming until it was far too late. They’d locked eyes, once; Magnhilde’s hands around the fat little neck of a mewling whelp. She remembered the shock. The horror. Pretty green eyes backlit with rage, but nothing _special_. Nothing _interesting._

That came later, when the first reports came in of Johanna ripping her second favorite lieutenant in two.

News of her movements reached them faster after that. Johanna the Just, the Vengeful, the Merciless, leaving bands of GummGumm’s slaughtered down to a troll wherever she went. At the start of it all she’d let two or three of the troops live to every dozen killed; one of the sniveling failures had even found himself at Magnhilde’s feet, carrying the only message they ever did.

“Return the whelps”.

Magnhilde had laughed, of course—the nerve of that woman! The flair! and sat him down with a flask of grog and orders to tell her everything he could remember. At the end of the night, having heard everything there was to hear, she’d killed him herself and punted the corpse to a Gruesome.

Johanna stopped leaving survivors.

Sometime before she’d met the woman in the stone (but not long after she’d begun to dream of her) Magnhilde had visited the latest of their creches, filled to capacity with teary eyed little runts. Not a one of them, she’d thought dispassionately, as able as her own boy. Bular had cut his teeth on living flesh and proven hungry for more, and sometimes how strongly she cared for the whelp managed to surprise even her.  

The Krubera had settled into the darkest, deepest corner they could in the cramped space. None of them were stupid enough to try and hide when she arrived, and even from a cursory glance their numbers had thinned substantially from when she’d led the raid. There was no room for weakness in Gunmar’s army, and the theory was the stronger ones would—inevitably—rise to the top.

Maybe it was even true.

Magnhilde had examined them, one by one, sating that odd bit of morbid curiosity as much as she gave in to any desire. Strength was debatable, but they were survivors, all, and collectively drawn as tight as a bowstring. Perhaps they’d recognized her. Perhaps they hadn’t, and simply knew power when they saw it.

One of them had stood out to her from the start. He was a fair bit larger than the other Krubera, with eyes a vivid and atypical green—and when she examined him the whelp held her gaze for nearly a minute before dropping it, trembling, a feat some fully grown trolls had yet to manage. She’d seen….terror, yes, but fire as well. The makings of potential.

She’d always had a talent for spotting it, and walked away from the creche satisfied.

They met for the second time (the first proper time, knowing what she knew of the woman’s true spirit) on a cool winter’s eve in the land the humans had taken to calling “Norway”. The Trollhunter and a small force of trolls local to the area had thought themselves clever enough to route them at the pass. They weren’t, but at the time Magnhilde had found the thought of blowing the sanctimonious fool’s plan up in his face too funny to pass up. Perhaps she’d even kill him.

The battle was well underway when Johanna made herself known, smashing through Magnhilde’s rear guard before they knew what hit them—and oh, if her informants had done anything it was undersell how beautiful she was, how elegantly she tore through stone and muscle and blood. The battlefield re-centered itself in an instant and she’d kicked the Trollhunter sideways for her lieutenants to handle, no longer satisfied.

Johanna was beautiful to watch. Fighting her, skin to skin, was transcendent.

Too evenly matched to finish the fight, and with reinforcements on the way to back the faltering Trollhunter, that first duel of theirs ended in a breathtaking draw. She’d stopped it, reluctantly, extracting herself from Johanna’s deadly embrace with as much apology she could inject into a right hook.

That retreat had been strategic but merry, and her troops had always known better than to question her moods.

Magnhilde had heard once that there were people in the world you were made to know. That some invisible string of destiny existed, connecting one bloody heart to another, bypassing meat and stone and all the years and miles of distance.

If any two trolls had been destined to meet, it was them. And if fate wouldn’t arrange it she’d gladly do the work herself.

One taste was never going to be enough. _Had_ never been enough, for all the times they’d clashed since.  
  
She wanted...  
  
She needed...  
  
Did Johanna know? She must, she must. Magnhilde would never be satisfied. Not until she’d drained the heart of her, whet her thirst until one of them withered and died.

How interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> magnhilde is bular's mom and gunmar's wife (he does not appear to have an issue with his wife blatantly thirsting over johanna). she's [ this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/0ef4739d7da1aaafdf40f14547e9781c/tumblr_inline_p1dcsgLj0Z1stmzmh_540.png) hot hunk of rock, so kudos to tumblr user pollution-of-subterranean-waters for that tasty theory. 
> 
> this is the second one-shot i've written where everything revolves around johanna being smoking hot but i still haven't described her show self properly, so: she's about aaarrrgghh’s basic shape for the most part, but larger and her color scheme is various shades of blue-ish black. her biolights light up red when shes pissed, and her face is more elongated then aaarrrgghh’s. her teeth/tusks are significantly more fucked up. yes she's got a beard.
> 
> [edit] [she looks exactly like this holy shit](https://chase-the-freakin-stars.tumblr.com/post/171070933550/me-me-dont-fucking-paint-something-you-dont)


End file.
